I don't write, I paint myself blind with words...diogenes herded...ignorance...gilded cages...filling up on beauty unleashed...free will's maddening fractures...eyes that need to smell to see...
April 10, 2016
bi-valve eternal macabre-sticky bitten plastic ................................................................................#NaPoWriMo2016
if I were to die
in your arms
would you
cremate me
in the setting Sun
a burnt offering
poem set atop as tall
a funeral pyre
as they would let you make
when wading goodbye's
spiritual undertows
the observant co-valents
flag currents back to merry
sew gather all your sisters
and undergarment-less-ly
dance beneath
a shine waxing Moon
(if only the clouds
could be made
to behave)...
and after night
palls with dew
take thee ashes
to the headwaters
of the Hudson
for this is a place
souls go to seek
another life's bones
here the world speaks
in whisper tomes
through worn
scrab-bled scarab
cared scaring scarred
life in a river town
full of thieves
a hustle breezy...
eulogies are
a tooth and shale
granite and clay witnessing
of what we've given to rain
our consciousness
our imperceptible(s)
these molecular level
gyrations of time
and season
over and over
when we become
mountains
again
ambulation
language ispoem arch
and ache
land people-d
with absolution(s)
reach need
inherit-ed sky
and oceans...
and so when fallen
from these legs
one last time
begin
telling your story
look for lore, seed
bodies and scent
tied to synesthesia
a colourform-ed
packing and unpacking
of both, the monsters
and bright ones
you filled forests
of oaks, elms, pines
and maples with...
have the listen-er,
clawing for a why here
pause and smile there
purposely show them
you still collect
all the cones
and a few odd mushrooms
set to dry
with earlier found
carried calm-
pocketing stones
ghost ballast
lighting a way
home through
the trees...
lab coat
to doctor
please
plea
plead pleas
pls
p stab
t-tabla coal
rote down
here
your name
at the end
of the poem
Per se ph one
yes bless-ed me this for instance bleeds
with broken meant to mend anyways
April tenth has:
a briny taste of shallow seas and marsh reed
captures of daylight in tiny tide roars
skimming amphibian
and flight-ed things
dare scoop hungry
loud mouths, shrill roars
when the inlets recede
EJR ©
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